


That Thing

by Predatrix



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, Come Eating, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 06:45:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4381394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Predatrix/pseuds/Predatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For two prompts on the kinkmeme: Childermass cleaning Norrell up after sex with his tongue; and "magical leakage during sex"</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Thing

It was all Childermass’s fault, after all. Mr Norrell had never entertained such notions before Childermass had given him a back massage (not in itself unwelcome) and gone just a little too far. Norrell hadn’t precisely hated the sensation of having his buttocks gently played-with, well maybe a gentleman certainly ought not to have enjoyed it, but he’d like to know how he could have defended himself against a mode of behaviour he had barely known existed. Warm strong hands all over him until he felt he was melting with delight, and the giddy heat of just doing what his body wanted to do, for once, and he hadn’t known the sensation of an oiled thumb just sliding against his arsehole, not even quite penetrating him, would be enough to make him moan and spend helplessly.

He’d had a very good night’s sleep, one could say that for it.

Over the ensuing weeks, Childermass proved that he had an excellent notion of how to keep his master’s nerves comfortable. Only the barest of suggestions that Norrell might need something to help him sleep led to a pleasant repetition of the experience, and Norrell would wake the next morning clean and tidy and cheerful. Evidently he trusted his servant: usually both his magical and merely-human senses prickled and twitched when somebody came near him, but Childermass appeared to be able to set him to rights afterwards without the slightest trouble.

Then Childermass stepped up his game. After one of Norrell’s attacks of nerves at the existence of a mouse somewhere in Hurtfew Abbey (it never seemed to make much difference to him whether the mouse was nearby or not, the very mention that a mouse in the kitchen was plaguing Cook upset him dreadfully, because what if Cook chased it out and it ran up to the library), Childermass settled to making him comfortable, more back-rubbing and stroking and arse-play until he was…a little worked-up. Or, as Childermass whispered into his ear, “bloody gagging for it.” He tried desperately to feel embarrassed, but was chiefly relieved that the needy ache of it had chased away the rest of the nervous tension, and he couldn’t care less if a mouse ran over his foot as long as Childermass didn’t stop doing that with his thumb.

Childermass stopped doing that with his thumb. “I could teach you a bit of a lesson,” he suggested.

“I don’t _care!”_ snarled Norrell.

“All too obvious you don’t care as long as you get what you’re after,” said Childermass mildly. “Which is why it’s good for your character to learn to behave decently to other people, as opposed to doing whatever you want and then falling asleep as if the other person’s of no more consequence than a stick of wood.”

Norrell muttered something.

“Mm?” said Childermass.

“I _said,_ Oh, all _right_ then, just let me finish!” said Norrell, more clearly, and he felt Childermass oblige him with a finger up his arsehole, harder than he’d done before. Norrell came off so hard he nearly howled, long shuddering spasms that made that finger seem enormous, as if some obliging giant was pleasuring him. He was, of course, good for nothing but sleep after that, no matter any rash promises he’d offered.

A month or so later, he was in a very bad mood. Childermass seemed to have given up getting him comfortable just as he’d developed a taste for it. The oblique comments that had been sufficient to making his requirements known now fell on the stoniest of ground, and Childermass had merely taken to making him a comforting hot drink if he complained about his nerves.

The last time, he’d nearly thrown it at his head.

Lacking any better idea to stop himself exploding in a puff of overheated steam, Norrell decided to pretend to be generous. He stretched out over Childermass’s bed with his arse in the air and promised him anything he liked.

“You _are_ in a bad way,” said Childermass. “What if I said, ‘the library’?”

Norrell twitched irritably. “Anything you like within particular parameters, then.”

Apparently what Childermass liked wasn’t particularly different from what Norrell liked, for he went about paying attention to his back and arse as before. Norrell shivered with delight. Childermass elaborated his ideas by asking what Norrell wanted, and Norrell said, “anything you want to give me.” Childermass worked him up a bit more, and rubbed his prick between Norrell’s buttocks. Norrell felt even more enthusiastic about the ‘anything’. He’d never happened to get fucked before, but how difficult could it be? The Greeks had managed it. And sailors. Apparently even some Londoners did, although it was probably a step too far in depravity for Yorkshiremen. Except, apparently, themselves, he decided, as his toes were curling with sheer want at the thought and Childermass didn’t seem to be entirely uninterested either.

Childermass was too large. Really, it was most inconvenient. Norrell had no intention of stopping because it hurt. But as soon as he hissed a breath out and tightened up, even before Childermass was quite in him, Childermass stopped at once and stroked his sides. “We can stop, if you need to, sir,” he said. Knowing he could stop did a lot to ease the panic, so Norrell simply asked Childermass to teach him, and Childermass put him in the way of it, rubbing more than thrusting until Norrell got his breath back and began to frig himself, which made him considerably more interested in getting Childermass to ‘put his back into it and _fuck,_ damn him, he needed it now and what use was Childermass if he couldn’t do the job properly?’ Childermass muttered, “The manners are probably a lost cause,” but didn’t (maybe couldn’t) stop and teach him a lesson. Norrell spent first, worked to such a froth of utter desperation that he could barely think about anything but getting what he needed, but he was dimly aware that Childermass took his pleasure as well.

The next day, he said something dreadful to Childermass about leaving his sheets in a mess (conveniently forgetting that that side of the business was down to both of them) so Childermass kept implementing his ‘hands-off’ policy for another couple of weeks until he apologised. Having learned he was more likely to be kept satisfied if he kept his servant sweet, Norrell did apologise, or at least the next time he obliquely asked Childermass to bed him, he asked if Childermass would please keep him clean.

The next time Childermass had him, Childermass went a lot faster and came fast and hard before Norrell was even approaching the point of orgasm. Norrell whined. Childermass fell back against him, hot, sweating and puffing like a bellows.

Frustrating as this was, Childermass peeled himself away quickly, while Norrell let out a little abandoned sob at being left unsatisfied. He began to visualise very long, very dull spells in front of his mind’s eye in an attempt to restore himself to calm.

“I’ll clean you up, sir,” said Childermass, to a Norrell who couldn’t have cared less about the state of his sheets at that moment.

Norrell was utterly shocked at Childermass’s method of cleaning him up. It involved the direct application of his tongue to what he had left filthy, lapping as dainty and pleased as a cat with cream, and this was completely disgraceful and not worthy of a gentleman and shouldn’t have had him moaning like a whore and forgetting all the spells he’d been memorising to hold back. It _certainly_ shouldn’t have made him almost scream with horrified pleasure when Childermass finally stuck what felt like his entire tongue up him and brought him off.

They were both rather amazed that Norrell appeared to have been doing involuntary magic while in an excited state. The bedsheets, the carpet and the wallpaper had all turned a rather startling gold in colour, and not only that but the bedsheets were not disgustingly soiled by their recent activities. Norrell rather wished that he’d known exactly how he was doing it.

Norrell added a new euphemism to his set of discreet circumlocutions. “Childermass, I should rather like it if you did that thing,” he would suggest. After a while, Childermass would get in the way of teasing him by saying, “I think I sprained my tongue last time,” but he rarely said no.

The odd magical side-effects continued every time he’d found Childermass’s attentions particularly effective, which was fascinating and gave him a few ideas for actual spells. When he met Jonathan Strange, he found the other man’s references to magical leakage--right out there in public as if it weren’t such a private thing--somewhat unnerving.


End file.
